


take your revolution to bed

by spiraetspera



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Childhood Memories, Childhood Sweethearts, F/M, pre-ishval
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-07-11 03:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7026496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiraetspera/pseuds/spiraetspera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riza running, running, running always, in circles, to command order; an alchemy by any other name.  </p>
<p>Drabbles of Roy and Riza's childhood together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Miss Riza

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Nat King Cole's Quizás Quizás. My headcanon is that Roy taught Riza dancing to this song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rDGgUGBD-90
> 
> Enjoy, and review if You have ideas!

There was a general misunderstanding within the military that Riza must have been the bestest child: well-behaving and meek and perfectly undispersed at all times. The rumour was renowned and gained significance sporadically, especially when Riza had gotten promoted post-Promised day. 

“ _EminentEminentEminent_ ” the walls seemed to whisper to her golden face, and it should not have mattered (for they survived, they survived, they lived). Yet Roy saw the hurt in the small corner of her mouth when Havoc joked about her still wearing knee-high white socks. The words opened wounds, and Roy thought of her hands which were calloused and dry years before she had ever held a gun in her hands. 

Riza was not meek at all, but she was humble so she stayed quiet. Roy though, wanted to scream. He stared at Riza as she turned away from Havoc to continue making an arrangement and then go on to arrange a thousand other miniscule matters that made up their universe of order. 

He stared at her back - that back which held that order; his universe - and saw her as a vision in sudden, the vision of her as a child.

Saw so clearly the exact moment when she came home in that old and gray mansion which was always cold and never too big to hide from the eerie presence of her father - a Master to both of them.

Saw her, rushing to the kitchen, burning her fingers the first and second and third time when she learned how to make pancakes after a long day. Riza, in her small, small, small room: reading when she had some time, or writing in that silly, leather-bound diary. 

But she never really had time. It flew from her hands like their money and so she went on to wash Roy’s trousers or her father’s shirt and then darn her own stockings and then went to town to fetch some food or run to the post office or to the apothecary. Riza running, running, running always, in circles, to command order; an alchemy by any other name.  

At that time, Roy paid no particular attention to her – for he was a true sping child, bursting with a kind of insatiable energy that caused regular migraines to Berthold Hawkeye. But because she stopped and listened to what he actually said (always did, does, will; Riza, the anchor, oh, the lighthouse of his lightningmind, his stormheart) he returned the kindness.

And though she was quiet, there was a tenacity in her that made her fight her classmates and teachers and Roy, too, when he got too cocky. She had been, as confessed years later, very angry.

This was no suprise. As a child, Roy recalled how carefully she paid attention in class, but seldom did anything more what was required. As a custom, most of the girls in eighth grade stayed in school till six or seven o'clock to take regular dance and piano lessons – but Riza never stayed in school, never learned to dance till she was twenty-three when Roy taught her in the dark of her bedroom, _please come closer, it is how it is done._

_It is quite an outrage_ , wrote Miss Glannel in a report when she was not yet fourteen; _and a pity that this child is nothing like a lady._

So Miss Headteacher paid special attention to Riza Hawkeye, and then paid a special visit to the Hawkeye Estate.

It was a tea party that none of them forgot.

Miss Glannel arrived sharply at four thirty, dressed in her best Sunday clothes and Sunday smile. They – Roy Mustang, a lanky boy whose voice was starting to crack, a very gruff and seedy Berthold Hawkeye, and a nicely dressed but sullen Riza - waited for the teacher in the sitting room stuffed with books and their coat of dust. Roy was both present and not: he was supposed to be copying Paracelsus’ diary, but in fact was trying not to die of boredom and occassionally, of laughter.

The Miss greeted Master Hawkeye with caution, and then turned greet Riza. The young girl courtsied and they all sat down. A heavy, awkward silence fell on all four of them, which Glannel broke intermittently by asking about Roy’s apprenticeship (who pretended to draw a perfect circle with a quill so crooked it shaped a circle by itself) and the books around them and finally, finally, after half an hour of mostly strange nothingness, Glannel, the Flannel, said:

“Sir, I must confess that your daughter seems quite distant in school.”

Berthold Hawkeye lifted his milky-gray eyes upon her. He was a thousand times more distant than his daughter.

“Is that so, Riza?” he asked while not looking at Riza who seemed to be completely absorbed in the hem of her dress while muttering and going completely red in the face.

“Speak up, young lady." 

"I said,” said Riza. “I like school.”

Then she glanced to her father. When it became clear he would not say anything, Glanner cleared her throat so loudly that someone in Central most probably noticed. 

“Tell me, Miss Riza” the teacher said finally, and her voice was like honey in a big, warm cup of milk. Roy grinned at Miss Riza who tried to threw him a very ugly look. And failed, apparently, because it was Master Hawkeye’s stoneface that turned to meet his smile instead, and young Mustang felt something withering inside of him at the sight.

“Well, what do you like most in school?”

And Riza Hawkeye, not yet fourteen, turned her sharp eyes at last to meet the lady’s and declared:

“I really love that poppy-seed cake they serve every Thursday.”

 

And although it was hard to tell if Miss Glannel choked on the tea or started to cry; and although their dinner was too salty after the meeting, because Riza made dinner in tandem with doing homework and although Riza was nothing like a lady cause she always tried to bite Roy’s hand whenever he reached for the last cookie; despite of it all Master Hawkeye did not punish Riza. 

During dinner he didn’t even spare her a glance. He looked like he could not care less. He looked as if he had not been present.

And much much later in the middle of the night when Roy tried to navigate himself to bed half-asleep; in the dark; he knew he heard the sound of rough tears coming from Riza’s room. 

And although Riza was nothing like a lady and he had been very spoiled at age fifteen, he still tried to open her door.

But, as always, it was locked.


	2. A bed of blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "She knew her father would never wake up before eleven, but Mister Mustang was an altogether, completely different case, and she would either drown herself or him in the river if he would appear now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AH YES THE JOY OF TURNING INTO A WOMAN.

She was almost fourteen when she woke up in a bed of blood.

  
In retrospect, Riza was very proud of herself that she didn't scream. But she panicked.

  
Oh how frightened she was, even though her classmate, Eleanor Hempton, already bragged about 'becoming the first woman' among them. Yes, Miss Glannel also said something about natural bleeding, but she had not mentioned whether she should get some medication or whether the first time should hurt _this_ much...

  
She got up to check the time, carefully, to not paint everything in her room red. It was not yet six o'clock and that was a blessing. No one was up yet.

  
So Riza gathered courage along with her bed sheets and headed to the laundry room. She made a mental note to put aside some money for a new laundromat; it seemed like a neat idea and would have meant a lot less time and energy to wash clothes. _Maybe that Xerxes dealer has one for sale_.

  
In the deep silence of dawn, the mewing of the stairs were violent. She knew her father would never wake up before eleven, but Mister Mustang was an altogether, completely different case, and she would either drown herself or him in the river if he would see her now.

  
_The washing soap_ , she realized as she thought about the river and all that water. _I left the washing soap in the kitchen._ On Monday she had to wash the tablecloth in the kitchen sink after Roy drew his chalk-drafts on it. He was very excited about transforming his first liquid into something more compact. So he used the kitchen as his sketch-book. He draw so Riza would understand it. He draw it so they could _talk_.

  
It was a rarity. Riza felt something stir inside her, warm and forbidden, as she thought of his dark head and eyes. _Focus. Washing Soap._ She documented the feeling as gratitude and made a note to dwell on it later. _Kitchen, next to the laundry room._

  
She turned into her dominion - the dominion of sweat, smoke and dishes not yet made - and screamed.

  
Roy Mustang was sipping his coffee in a peaceful, meditative manner at the counter. He was looking out the small window and when Riza screamed, he jumped and let his mug go downdowndown, crashing onto the floor. The silence that followed was more deafening.

  
"What are you doing here" Riza said in a much more strangled manner. She was actively trying to turn the sheets in a way that would hide her nightdress and the patches of blood on the linens. "This early?" She then added: " _Mister._ "

  
Roy stared at her. His eyed wandered to the linen and then to the flounce of her gown. Riza stared back and thought, _fuck me gently with a half-made automail. He knows and he is going laugh and he is going to be disgusted-_

  
Then, in an incredibly small and gentle voice, Roy Mustang said:

  
"Is this your first time?"

  
Now, it was around that time when Roy Mustang had become what Padre Hawkeye would define as a "Delusionally Confident Lad.” To which Roy Mustang, sixteen and handsome, would have grinned and winked, and would have said: "Can't fake this feelin'."

  
He was still full of an energy that now manifested in his impatience to do something No One Ever Had Ever Done Before Or Will Ever Do Again. He was confident in all the wrong ways and wrong times: smiled when he should not have and was serious when it was much too late.

  
_("Roy-boy", that is how he chided himself much, much later too, at a grave silent as the night, "You poor, impatient fool".)_

  
It was also around that time Riza mastered the element of complete silence. She would get up in the morning and not make a sound till she called them to eat dinner. They rarely talked, since Roy had not much free time, and when he did, he went out on his motorcycle and had not come back until two or three in the morning. Riza always woke up to the sound of him; him coming up the stairs, a little bit tipsy for sure, mouth smoked and kissed apart. Eleanor Hampton proved to be a great, deep well of intel. She was sure Eleanor proved to be a great, deep well in a different way.

  
Riza did not understand her bitterness, she just knew it was true and throbbing. And in all honesty, she could not hate Eleanor, because she was bold. Riza Hawkeye wanted to be her. Wanted to be brave.

  
So she asked very quietly:

  
"How did you know?"

  
Roy's smile was kind. He crouched to pick up the remains of his mug.

  
"I have many sisters. Same thing for them every month."

  
"Can you -" Riza felt her face burn. "fetch me the washing soap from the cabinet?"

  
He did so, soundlessly.

  
"Usually," Riza froze. It was his turn to flush. "A hot bath and some rest helps. For them, I mean."

  
She smiled, feeling a bit stronger now, somehow; as she looked at him standing there, all awkward and quiet.

  
"Thank You. I'm... a bit helpless."

  
Roy already sat back to the small and shaky table, to study, no doubt. His eyes shone with a strange light when he looked up at her.

  
"Riza, you are not helpless _at all_."

 

* * *

  
Only after hanging the sheets outside and taking a long bath and changing into cleaner clothes was she able to start thinking about making some breakfast.

  
But there was already porridge and fruit on the table, with some warm tea ready. The sink and the counter was clean, the table made, any sign of mess gone. Riza wandered around slowly as if she was in a dream. Her eyes caught a piece of paper.

  
_Today's on me. Gone to the village to get some stuff for today's practice. See you soon! R._

  
She folded the note carefully and put it into her pocket. Then she sat, smiled, and waited for him to come.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. king and queen of cantelon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That Hawkeye" Hughes asks Roy much later, as they pick the remains of their gruel at the fire. "Is she a friend or something more?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM BACK W MORE ANGST, AREN't YOU HAPPY? 
> 
> On a more serious note: Thank You so very much for every kudo and review. It means bread and wine and the world to me. :-) Enjoy!

[i]

 

She is not yet eighteen when she kills a man.

  
Instead of shedding tears ( _as it should be_ ), she gets violently sick by the gore and the blood ( _as it must be_ ). Then guilt makes her sick again; and only then does she feel something more than disgust.

 

 

[ii]

  
Roy is in Ishval five months later. His path is illuminated by flames and dying screams. They know when he is near.

  
The scent of death is universal.

 

 

[iii]

 

There is bile and some blood in her mouth.

  
_Ready._

  
Roy looks old through the scope of her gun. She does not think he is handsome anymore.

  
_Aim._

  
"That Flame Alchemy, man, that's some fucking scary shit, man, how did he ever manage to - "

  
_Fire._

  
The sniper next to him yelps as the boy she just shot falls.

  
She weeps, finally.

 

 

[iv]

 

His eyes shine like a blackblack eclipse sun when they behold her.

  
The sweat travelling from his temple to his neck look like tears.

 

 

[v]

 

"That Hawkeye" Hughes asks Roy much later, as they pick the remains of their gruel at the fire. "Is she a friend or something more?"

  
Even by the mere mention of her name Roy tenses, but he looks at Hughes. There is a wildness on his face that screams of a promise made a long time ago.

  
"A friend." he stares at the fire, suddenly far-far away. "Family."

  
Mustang's face is stone and Hughes does not have the heart to pull him any more than necessary.

  
Instead, he says:

  
"She is very young."

  
Roy dumps his food in the fire and leaves.

 

 

[vi]

 

 

"Are you engaged?" she asks, looking at the letter in Hughes hands. They share watered coffee in the early light, before his tent. The words they share are few and Hughes takes a moment to memorize Gracia's words about candles she lights for him in the evenings. When he looks up, the circles around Riza's eyes are dark.

  
Many admire her in here, for she is strong and quiet and able. But Hughes loves her for she is gentle and there is passion under her placid facade. He sees her fire.

  
(sees the fire the most when Riza looks at Roy, from under her sad, sand-laden lashes)

  
 _There are many ways to vow yourself to someone else_ ; he thinks. Riza's eyes are candles on their own.

  
"I am." he answers. Riza nods and they slip back into silence.

 

 

 

[vii]

 

For a moment, Hughes thinks Roy is talking to someone, but in the very next moment, dawn's dim light hits his eyes as he steps out of his tent, and he cannot identify who his friend is talking to.

  
He puts on his coat of grim and blood and begins his journey to the small valley. The place is approximately fifty metres from the rest of the tents. In this vast sand empire of Ishval he walks slowly, enjoying the sun that does not torch yet and thinks, we are lucky that the morning is clueless of the bloodshed that approaches. Mornings here come with apathy and a breeze of hope.

  
The tent shields the Flame Alchemist, so Hughes decides to circle the area before he makes his way to greet Roy and he is halfway done marching around the sandcircle when he freezes.

  
Mustang is talking to thin air. Roy is talking to himself. And Hughes catches a glimpse of his eyes and they are feral; his hands are pointing to his own chest - a sign of atonement and absolution. Roy looks livid and it is something Hughes does not want to see. Has no right to see. And however curious he might be ( _he is_ ), Hughes is above all tactful and would give his life for this boy ( _he loves him very much_ ).

  
So he returns, feigning sleep a bit in his tent, waiting for Roy to return, but an hour and another passes and the alchemist does not come. Hughes decides on searching for him and heads to the forum, a place at which one could have nourishing breakfast and a fulfilling chat. Not many soldiers are there, bur Hawkeye is there, eating something tinned.

  
"Have you seen Roy?" he whispers as he sits down next to her, holding a soup. "I saw him at that solitary valley tent this morning and then he disappeared."

  
"Oh" Riza frowns at her tinned beef. "I haven't seen him." A heartbeat. "The tent is mine."

 

 

[viii]

 

 

There is a ruffling at the door of her tent and she knows it's Roy. His dark hair is one with the nightsky outside and she jumps at the sound of him.

  
"Riza."

  
"Major." her voice is accusatory. "You should not have come."

  
He enters, finally; pale as the sand when the sun hits its surface. Roy has a facade outside, and even inside here, he tries to look brave, but his hands and legs are shaking. Riza knows what he wants before he takes a breath;

  
"Please forgi- " she grips her gun which she polished before he arrived. The barrel is piercing her hands like a knife.

  
She wants to hurt.

  
So, before Roy can touch her arm oh so gently, she stands. This is a dance that was to come. Her eyes are fixed at the ground, his are to her face.

  
"Why have you come?" she asks very slowly.

  
"To apologize."

"For?"

  
There is a small pause, a hesitation from him and Riza peeks to see how he looks. Roy's eyes are darker than ever in this light. He is thin and full with guilt. He gulps, throat probably dry, and his eyes slide from her face to solely to her lips and Riza feels like she's been spit on.

  
"Why have you come here?" he whispers back. His eyes are shining again.

  
( _Because I wanted to make a change. Because I wanted to matter. Because this is the last thing my father would have thought I would be._ )

  
"Not for you." Riza says evenly.

  
He nods, slow and solemn and proud.

It should not hurt this much, just watching him move his head.

  
Reasons are always simple. Riza feels guilty and she feels cheated. Outguilted. 

  
She feels rather than sees him shift closer and it is too much.

  
"What do you want?" her voice is not small anymore, but sharp and cold. She thinks of guns nearby and needles long gone.

  
Roy looks struck and lost - he does not answer but sees his dark eyes and in them, next to guilt and shame and fear, something that makes her stomach drop.

  
Roy wants her.

 

Feebly, she steps back, mutters:

  
"No."

  
Truth is: a part of her wants to give in and forget. Wants him to sink in her, and forgive at last; but the room and her stomach turns with this idea. The image revolts her and knows she would kill herself first then let him come closer now. She hates him again - hates herself even more.

  
"I am just - " Roy says lamely, staying far his but arms open. "I am so sorr-"

  
"Forgiveness is not given, Roy." she says flatly. "It is earned. And if you don't leave now, I will hurt you."

  
Roy looks into her eyes again and nods.

  
As always, she sleeps with her gun close to her heart.

 

 

[ix]

 

He never comes into her room uninvited again.

 

 

[x]

 

Her father used to say that fire is the only element that is absolutely pure.

  
"If you want to cleanse something down to its roots then you have to burn it first."

  
She is eight years old and does not understand.

 

 

[xi]

 

She is twice that age when her father dies. He always wanted to be cremated, but Riza does not care to make an extra effort to ask more money from Roy. Her father had no money to leave, so she has none.

  
( _only red, sore memories and an even redder and angrier mark on her back_ )

  
They put him deep underground and part of her feels satisfied. If fire is holy then he deserves no heat.

  
"I am sorry I wasn't here" says Roy. His coat is shining in the sunlight. It is spring and Riza feels lighter somehow, light and carefree, for the first time in years. "Do you need anything else?"

  
( _I want to sell this house. I want to buy a new skirt. I want to learn Xingese, maybe. I want to listen to the neighbour's phonograph. I want youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou_ )

  
Riza nods and says,

  
" Please, let me show you something."

 

 

[xii]

 

 

The war is over and they are heading home.

  
Neither of them smiles. Riza's short hair is growing at the nape of her neck and the hair looks white in the sunlight: a clean, crisp, holy color. He knows he might be (is definitely) dirty and the dirt looks like blood dried on his skin. And he wants nothing more than to lie next to her and bury himself in the promises he made. To Hughes. To himself. To her.

  
"I want you to burn my back."

  
Her back has a gentle, solid curve and he closes his eyes.

  
"Please" she says, softly.

  
He knows he is forgiven.

 

 

[xiii]

 

 

There is a boy with dark hair in their kitchen. It is the middle of the night so Riza screams and hurls the broom at him.

  
His name is Roy Mustang and he claims to be his father's apprentice (which is obviously a lie, cause his Papa would never teach a smug-looking urban kid like him) and goes even further by saying he was just looking for a spoon.

  
Riza is prepared to hurl the heavier looking plate collection at him, but his father appears and says;

  
"Riza, this is Mister Mustang." he eyes her daughter and his tired eyes shift to the boy in the corner. "He is harmless."

  
She eyes him again, shy all of a sudden.

  
Roy smiles and Riza cannot help but smile back.

  
  


 

[xiv]

 

Some might even call it love.


End file.
